


Don't Come Back

by generoe (TWolves51)



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Angst, I Don't Even Know, M/M, Not Beta Read, Stuff happens, This is literally pure angst, This is so disjointed, War, World War II, it's weird - Freeform, please help
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-06
Updated: 2015-02-06
Packaged: 2018-03-10 19:20:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3300713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TWolves51/pseuds/generoe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Webster hates Harvard, the Army and and Joseph D. Liebgott. Liebgott just hates Webster.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Come Back

**Author's Note:**

> I have the deepest respect for the men of Easy Company. I wrote this based on the actors portrayal of them.

Webster hated the Army. He hated the Army almost as much as he hated Harvard. It was a different kind of hate though. He hated Harvard because he hated the lazy professors and the even lazier students. He hated the culture of the rich pompous idiot (at the same time not quite realizing that’s what he looked like to others) and he hated the idea that you had to have money to get a higher education. He hated the Army because he was independent and the Army had taken that from him the moment he had enlisted (he had still enlisted though). He hated it because it put men that were stupid (like Lieutenant Peacock) in charge and men that were smart and good like Guarnere or Randleman as NONCOMs. It was ridiculous. 

The only thing that Webster possibly hated more than the Army or Harvard was Joseph D. Liebgott. He hated the perpetual smirk that was always on Liebgott’s lips. He hated the fact that they could never agree on something. He hated that Liebgott treated him like a replacement when he had been there from Normandy until now. He was no goddamn replacement. He hated that Liebgott called him Web (everyone else did too but that was besides the point). He hated, well, he hated everything about Joe Liebgott, from the tips of his dark hair to the very ground on which he stood. 

Most of the guys ignored their bickering and anyone who wasn’t used to it eventually did. It was always the small thing that started the argument. How far apart fox holes had to be (5 yards but Joe said six). Was an M1 better than a Thompson. And other stupid argument that would lead to other stupid things and then finally one of the others would tell them to shut up. They would just stare at the person angrily then at each other and finally fall silent until some broke the quiet with a new subject to argue.

Now, they all sat around a small fire, in a barn, in the unoccupied part of Holland. Webster stared into the fire in thought trying to clear his mind of images seen earlier that day. Finally Van Klinken broke the silence.

“Wanna know what Web here did today?” His voice was amused.

“Probably finally learned to shoot straight.” Liebgott mumbled.

“Shut up.” Talb said, shooting Liebgott a look of annoyance. 

“We was outside and Hoobler comes over and says we should sleep in the barn, we get up and we follow. Then this Dutchman comes out of a shelter, a bomb shelter, and then his son comes out. Web here goes over and gives the kid his chocolate bar and the Dutchman says the kid had never tasted chocolate before.” Van Klinken finishes the story with relish and the guys closest to the now blushing Webster slap him on the back. 

“Well fucking good for him.” Liebgott said from the corner of the room.

“Shut up, Liebgott.” Webster said. “You’re just jealous.”

“Of what? Your ‘good’ heart?” Liebgott sneared back, miming finger quotes around the word good.

The other guys rolled their eyes and began to turn away, Liebgott and Webster’s arguing had become second nature even to the new recruits. Then Lieutenant Peacock walked in his face contorted in an expression of pain that Webster knew instantly. Constipation. He laughed to himself, the bastard deserved it. 

“Webster. Liebgott. Watch. Now.” His voice sounded as strained as his face looked. The Lieutenant hobbled back into the officer section of the barn and continued to hobble toward what looked like toward the bathroom. Webster sighed and gathered up his gun and helmet and looked over at a disdainful Liebgott.

“Come on, college boy.” Liebgott sped out of the barn, Webster a few steps behind. 

“Fuck you.” Webster hissed at Liebgott as they squatted in a trench beside Hell’s Highway. 

“Fuck you too, Webster.” Liebgott hissed back, eyes on the road above them. They had walked in silence about a two miles from their warm cozy barn and now they sat in disgusting trench. The bottom layer of the trench was covered in about two inches of water and their feet were until their ankles. 

“You little piece-” Webster began his chest tightening with frustration, but suddenly there was a hand over his mouth and Liebgott was making furious gestures for him to be quiet. He nodded and Liebgott slowly removed his hand, calluses catching slightly of Webster's chapped lips. Webster frowned at the jolt that slid through his stomach at the feeling and focused on the road. 

Liebgott turned and put his lips to Webster’s ear. “There are three Krauts about a meter in front of us. We take two out then grab the third.” 

Webster nodded, ignoring the jolts in his stomach at the feeling of Liebgott’s lips on his ear. He softly clicked off the safety on his gun. Liebgott motioned for the count of three. Webster breathed out in a steady stream then nodded. Liebgott grinned and one finger went down then two and finally three. Webster stood up back straight and came face-to-face with three Krauts. 

Blam! That was Liebgott. One out of three fell and the other two scrambled for their guns. Blam! Webster felt the buck into his shoulder as the second Kraut fell a blank look on his face. The third Kraut’s eyes flicked back between Webster and Liebgott before lowering his weapon and raising both of his hands. Silently Webster motioned with his gun for the man to walk in front of them in the direction that they had come. 

The man obeyed, walking a few steps before suddenly stepping back and going for Liebgott’s gun. The Kraut grabbed at the barrel and before Liebgott could do anything the Kraut was pointing the gun at him while yelling in German for Webster to drop his weapon. 

“Fucking Kraut bastard.” Liebgott yelled in the man’s face. The man pushed the barrel into Liebgott’s chest his finger creaking on the trigger. 

Webster raised his gun, mechanically taking am, as if the Kraut wasn’t yelling in his face that he should drop his weapon. His finger tightened on the trigger and in one swift motion he yanked it and hit the Kraut above the ear. The now lifeless man slumped to a heap on the ground and Webster lowered the gun.

“Fucking hell, Web.” Liebgott gingerly grabbed his gun from the arms of the dead man in front of him. 

“Shut up, we gotta move.” Webster retorted and broke into a run, Liebgott on his heels as they headed back toward the barn. “Fucking Army bastards.” Webster muttered between breaths. Behind him Liebgott was smirking.

~

The next day Webster got hit, or in his words. “They got me!” and then “Can you believe I just said that?” Liebgott laughed at him and yanked Webster down into a ditch. His leg was buzzing and not quite in pain but that was the adrenaline. Thank God, the bullet had gone straight through and not hit any bone. Otherwise, he would probably not have been able to move. 

“Can you get down to the aid station?” Liebgott asked distractedly looking back at the battle taking place behind them. Webster nodded and finished tying the bandage from his aid kit around the wounded area of his leg. “Web?”

“Yes Liebgott?”

“Take care of yourself.”

Webster smirked. “Are you getting soft Joseph Liebgott?” 

“Fucking shut up.” Liebgott mumbled, then in one sudden move grabbed Webster’s jacket and pulled him forward. They were very close, so close that Webster could almost see the flecks of green in Liebgott’s eyes. Webster felt a jolt in his stomach and he glanced down at Liebgott’s lips, chapped and dirty. His stomach gave another jolt. He gaze went back up to Liebgott’s eyes, they were watching him knowingly. And that was when Liebgott kissed him. 

Not slow like the girls he held gently in his bedroom in Harvard. Not pseudo rough like the boys he’d let push him against walls. No, Liebgott kissed him fiercely and angrily. Their teeth clacked more than once and it wasn’t the most ideal kiss, but it was Liebgott. He kissed like he fought, dirty and taking what he wanted. Webster felt the jolt in his stomach having a field day and he was acutely aware of the pain in his leg, but that was being overshadowed by Liebgott’s chapped lips scraping across his own.

Then, almost as suddenly as it began Liebgott pulled away and let go of Webster’s jacket. 

“Get the fuck outa here.” Then he was up and running back toward the place where men were in pain and bullets found their homes in men’s hearts. Webster shook his head, trying to keep the grin off his face as limped in the other direction toward the aid station. 

~

Liebgott slipped back into trench beside one of the new recruits, Hashey, and Hoobler. 

“What happened to Web?” Hoobler yelled over the sound of artillery and rifle shots. 

“Got hit, the fucker. Went back to the aid station.” Liebgott yelled back loading his gun. 

“Think he’ll be back?” Hoobler asked as he popped shots over the edge of the trench.

“Na, it ain’t like him.” Liebgott replied. A piece of him wanted to believe that Web might come back. For him. But the other part knew that this was Webster. Army hating, war hating, college boy, Webster. 

“Fuck it.” Liebgott felt the bullet slice across his neck. Reflexively his hand went to the spot and came away red and slick. He dropped his gun and yanked his aid kit out of his pocket. As fast as he could he tied the bandage around his neck and went immediately back to shooting.

Later, Doc sewed up the wound and told him he really should have gone back to the aid station, but Liebgott said he was fine. Internally he knew he really didn’t want to see Webster. Not because of what had happened before the other man limped off to the aid station, but because of what he might say. Webster had left a fight. He had done something that Liebgott would never let himself do. 

When Montgomery, the fucking bastard, finally decided to take them off the line Liebgott swore to himself that he would not go and try to find out what had happened to Webster. Instead he went down to London with Malarkey, Muck, and Penkala and got gloriously drunk. That didn’t help very much since he still thought about Webster and that the fucker was probably relaxing in some comfortable hospital bed surrounded by pretty nurses. 

 

Then Liebgott wasn’t allowed to think about anything anymore because they were being shipped out again this time to a place called Bastogne in Belgium and it was so fucking cold. The snow was everywhere and the ground was frozen making it even harder for he and Alley to dig their foxhole. Any thoughts of Webster just made him angry at him. Angry for abandoning him and angry at his stupid face, just so fucking angry and that was what kept him warm. The red heat of it warming his belly better than the terrible coffee that Gordon made and the disgusting beans that they very rarely ate.

He knew the cold was getting to him when Alley suggested that they start using the bodies of dead krauts for insolation on their foxhole and he agreed. Liebgott knew they were fucked when Doc began going around looking for extra morphine, and he knew they were done when they discovered how much of a shitty officer Dike was (and Liebgott knew how fucked he was because he missed Webster despite being so angry at him). 

Christmas came and went with the cry of “Nuts!” from General McCauliffe and then New Years rolled around and Liebgott couldn’t believe that he had lived this long. The thought sunk in deeper imprinting the preciousness of life on his very bones, when Babe’s foxhole mate John Julian was killed in a patrol on that very day. Liebgott decided that war was shit and maybe Webster was lucky for being gone. Fuck.

~

Webster hated the hospital. He hated a lot of things, but he really hated hospitals. The army doctors put him through three. The first he was booted from because they needed more room for the new arrivals and the second booted him for the same reason. The third, in Paris, finally set him in a flea infested bed that still had blood stained sheets. The men on either side of him were both set for amputation and groaned the entire night in pain. The whole situation made him feel guilty, the constant nauseousness of it keeping him up more than the men around him. Who was he, with such a minor injury to be taking up a much needed bed in the hospital? 

Webster sighed. The ward was dark and the only sound were the soft groans of pain from almost every bed in the ward. He cursed softly. If the army really wanted soldiers to go AWOL this was the way to do it. His thoughts flashed to Liebgott and his face heated up. He never thought he would actually missed him but there was a part of him that did. Webster figured that Liebgott and the rest of the 101st was fighting in Bastogne like the radio had said not three hours before after wishing the whole army a “Merry Christmas!” Webster felt like shooting it. Because maybe Liebgott wasn’t in Bastogne. Maybe he was dead. Blown up or shot down in Holland. Or split open, insides exposed like some gruesome strip tease, in Bastogne. Webster refused believe those thoughts. Liebgott was too tough. Too much of a constant to die. 

His mind was spilt. On one hand Webster wanted to go AWOL and on the other hand his wound still ached and he was reluctant to return to combat. However he had made up his mind after that stupid announcer had wished that falsely cheerful “Merry Christmas!” 

His uniform was in the bedside cabinet and he quietly reached for it. Webster placed everything on the bed then stood and slipped of the nightgown that they had given him. He winced as his pants scraped against his wounded leg and as quickly and quietly as he could he yanked the rest of his clothes on and slipped outside. 

The air was cold and bitter as he sneaked toward the shelter that held his gun. When he neared the door he pulled one of several hairpins that he had charmed off of the incredibly ugly nurse that was assigned to him. Sticking one in the lock he jiggled it around just like Hoob had shown him and gave a silent cheer when the door swung noiselessly inward. Webster creeped inside and felt around in the dark for a light switch. He flicked it on and immediately spotted his gun. Grabbing it, he snatched up as much ammo as he could carry and stuffed it in one of the packs he found laying on the floor. Then, switching the light back off he walked out heading in the direction of the road. The road would lead to a dock (hopefully) or some possible way for him to get into Belgium. Webster prayed (for one single moment in his life) that he would be successful and that Liebgott wasn’t dead.

~

The cold was like needles that drove into Liebgott’s arms and legs ( he already couldn’t feel his feet). It’s thread was the wind that stole into every opening possible as if trying to freeze him from the outside as much as the inside. Alley tried to find small way to keep them warm, especially Liebgott (the skinny freak) but there wasn’t much he could do. 

They lost Lieutenant Peacock to some shit back home. He had to go boost morale for the people at home. Liebgott didn’t see how that was possible, given that Peacock couldn’t even boost the morale of his own men, let alone a fucking country. They moved back into their old positions in the woods over Foy and Liebgott laughed as Toye cursed about First Battalion crapping in his foxhole. Then he wasn’t laughing anymore as the scuds started falling and the air was filled with the sound of heavy artillery and cries for a Medic. 

It wasn’t until after the second attack that he found out what had happened to Toye and Guarnere and Muck and Penkala. Liebgott fucking hated the Germans. 

“Do think we’ll make it out of this fucking thing alive?” Alley asked. “If guys like them didn’t survive-”

“Fucking shut up.” Liebgott interrupted and hunkered down deeper into his part of the foxhole.

An hour later Lipton came by and told Liebgott there was someone to see him. Liebgott frowned and in doing so missed Lipton’s little smirk, who the fuck would want to see him? He uncurled himself from his blanket and swore he could hear his fucking joints creaking. He followed a still smirking Lipton to HQ where Captain Winters was talking to someone. 

“Sir.” Lipton said and Captain Winters looked up.

“Yes?”

“I brought him, sir.” Liebgott was frowning at the third man who wasn’t Captain Nixon, wasn’t anyone he expected to see in a million years. His mind recognized the man as Webster but he refused to let it be Webster at the same time. 

“Liebgott you’ve got a new foxhole partner, Alley is going to share with one of the new recruits.” Captain Winters expression was filled with weary delight and Lipton’s smirk had still not gone away. Webster stepped into their slight circle and nodded at Liebgott in an almost carefully expressionless way. 

“Yessir.” Liebgott said mechanically and without so much as looking at Webster he turned back toward his foxhole. Why the fucking fuck did Webster come back? Liebgott veered away from the foxholes and into the tree line. What the fuck? Who did Webster think he was? Fucking coming back here as if everything was normal. As soon as they were out of earshot Liebgott grabbed Webster and slammed him against the nearest tree. 

“Why the fuck did you come back?” His voice was deadly even and controlled. Webster smiled softly and Liebgott hated him for that. 

“For you, you bastard, but if you’re going to shove me against trees and manhandle me I might just go back to where I came from.” Webster’s voice was light. Fury was still curling in Liebgott’s belly.

“Fuck you, Webster. What the fuck?” His voice trembled slightly and he frowned willing his brain to take control again. 

“Is that really all you can say right now?” Webster looked at him curiously, but Liebgott caught the little flicker of hurt that passed through those blue gray eyes. 

“I just, fuck, I thought.” Liebgott lost all control he thought he had and pressed his face into the crook of Webster’s shoulder. “I thought that if you got injured you wouldn’t fucking come here, to this shithole and fucking die like everyone else. I fucking hate that you left and I fucking hate this war. Nothing’s fucking predictable not even you apparently. Fuck. I’m acting like a fucking girl. Shit, Web.” 

Liebgott hated the fact that he had just fallen apart. Hated that it was Webster who was seeing him like this. He felt Webster tip off his helmet and heard it plop into the snow, felt Webster’s hand card through his hair. He sighed, how fucked up did the world have to be that he was sitting here, practically in Webster’s arms, letting his heart bleed out, while there was a world at war around them. 

“Hey, Lieb?” Webster’s voice was quiet.

“Ya?” Liebgott never wanted to leave the warmth that was Webster’s shoulder. 

“Look at me.”

“Don’t wanna look at your ugly mug.” He felt rather than heard Webster’s laugh. 

“Come on, it can’t be that bad.” Liebgott looked up, carefully watching Webster’s face as if it would go away any second. As if something would come out of no where and snatch Webster away. 

“No, it ain’t that bad.” Liebgott said, grinning slightly. Webster grinned back, leaned forward, and kissed Liebgott on the nose. 

“Fuck you, college boy.” Liebgott said smiling and Webster laughed. Liebgott kissed him square on the mouth, feeling Webster’s grin, and the taste of K-rations and maybe a little sadness. When Liebgott finally pulled away, he grinned wide, teeth showing. “Now that’s how its done.” 

Webster shook his head, chuckling.

**Author's Note:**

> This is totally not edited or anything and I kind of hate it, but that's just my shit. I might write another part, depends. Thank you for reading. I also realized that I messed with nearly everything in the real life stage of events, and this was on purpose. So please go easy on me.


End file.
